Strays
by Dot
Summary: ::Complete:: Arthur's first few days in London and how he hooked up with the Flaming Creatures.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One   
  
The bus from Manchester arrived in London at dusk. Arthur Stuart was the last passenger to climb off. He knew he looked terrible, knew that the people around him were staring at him, guessing that his rumpled clothes were due to being ejected from his home and having to make the four hour bus trip due to some horrible sin. He also knew that they would be right and he had no reason to condemn them for staring.   
  
Arthur ducked his head and pushed through the doors, emerging in the small café. His stomach rumbled as he breathed in the hearty smell of… Well, any food would smell good after a tasteless breakfast and four hours on that bus. He strode to the counter, hurriedly placing an order. He couldn't just stand around all night; he had another bus to catch. Aunt Phyllis was expecting him.   
  
He shivered. It had been nearly a decade since he'd seen her, but the memory of her frizzy steel-colored hair and nails-on-a-chalkboard voice was enough to terrify him. He'd seen then what she did to her children; made them into miniature versions of herself and his father. And now, with his father's blessing, she'd do it to him.   
  
What's so bad about that? Arthur argued with himself. After all, do you want to be this disgusting, shameful… thing… your whole life?   
  
No. He wanted to go home; he wanted to crawl under the covers of his bed, finish The Picture of Dorian Gray and then go to school. He wanted to be normal and he wasn't. He'd known it when Patty Hilborn had kissed him on his fourteenth birthday and he'd known it when his father had called Aunt Phyllis the night before.   
  
A waitress slapped his plate in front of him on the counter. He quietly thanked her and began eating. The meat had no taste; Arthur didn't know if it was the cooking skills of the staff or yet another abnormal thing about himself. Then he took a bite of the potato and decided that, if nothing else, his taste buds were normal. Slowly he pushed the half-eaten meal away.   
  
"Last call for the 7:55 to Stratford. Last call to Stratford!"   
  
At the gravelly announcer's voice, Arthur's head snapped up. That was his bus. "Oh, no…" he murmured and stood. Hurriedly, he dug around in his pocket and tossed a note onto the table, not stopping to see how much it was. He grabbed his bag from where it had been carelessly tossed beside him and took off running for the stop.   
  
He got there just in time to see the bus disappear down the street. He closed his eyes and sighed, then turned back toward the ticket booth. "Excuse me?" he asked the man.  
  
He looked down at Arthur with bleary eyes from behind his glass cage. "Yes?"  
  
"When's the next bus to Stratford?"   
  
"Nine twenty," the man replied blandly.   
  
Arthur smiled. "Can I purchase a ticket for that now?"   
  
"That's a good idea. Morning trips are always sold out; its bleeding tourist season."  
  
Arthur blinked. "Morning? You mean there isn't one tonight?"   
  
"You just missed the last one. Hope there wasn't somewhere you had to be."  
  
"Bloody hell…" Arthur murmured, trying to hide the relief creeping into his bones. "Are you sure?"   
  
"Yes. Would you like to buy that ticket now?"   
  
Arthur nodded and dug in his pocket. He pulled out two bills and stared down at his funds. A grand total of twenty pounds. He looked back up at the man, waiting impatiently to take his money and go home. And Arthur saw his future as clearly as he saw the man in front of him.   
  
Aunt Phyllis, his father- they would make him that man, pale and sullen, dark circles under darker eyes. He would go to work, day in and day out, trapped in a loveless marriage, the father to kids who would grow up to mock each other like his brother mocked him. Slowly he shook his head and turned away, only to hear the man grumbling behind him.   
  
Arthur ran- out of the station and down the road, desperate to get away. He clutched his bag tightly, the heavy squares inside a reminder of why he could not become that man. His father had forbidden him to take the records, but he would not leave them for his brother to sell or destroy. He knew Ryan's opinion of his "pansy rockers". He nearly filled his bag with his favorites, leaving him with room for one change of clothes and an extra pair of socks.   
  
Arthur didn't know where he could get a room for twenty pounds and he really didn't want to sleep on the street. Of course any room he could find for twenty pounds would most likely be just as bad… Arthur shook his head. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.   
He wasn't a mile away from the bus depot when he saw a club. Its sign marked it "The Last Resort" and Arthur suppressed a chuckle. It was apt, if not original. He entered quickly, paying the small cover fee and headed inside.   
  
Music blasted out any talking and he walked toward the stage. He recognized the song- it was Brian Slade's latest hit. The group onstage covering it did it justice, Arthur noted, watching them, fascinated. The entire band was glammed up, feather boas and sequins. The lead singer was tiny, pixie-like. His black hair was hidden beneath a large hat and his dark eye makeup made his eyes look wild and unfocused. The guitarist on the left blew him a kiss suddenly and Arthur grinned, blown away the action.   
  
He headed back through the small crowd to the bar and decided to wait out at least part of his night in the club. He asked for a Coke, not knowing what else to order. The bartender gave him a strange look, but complied, sliding the soda to him a moment later. Arthur sipped it slowly, enjoying the show.   
  
The band was finished soon after and they disappeared back stage, only to reappear a few moments later, the singer without his hat and their instruments in cases that stayed by their sides as they took over a booth in the middle of the room. He watched them subtly for a few moments, until the guitarist stood and ambled over to the bar. He stood next to him and flashed him a grin. "You wanna buy us a round of drinks and tell us why you're staring?" the guitarist asked cheerfully.  
  
Arthur blinked as his face flushed. "Uh…"   
  
"Oh, its ok. People stare at us all the time. We were just wondering why you in particular were."  
  
Arthur nodded. "Drink?"   
  
The young man bobbed his head eagerly. "Sounds good."   
  
*  
  
Ray's little plaything was going to prove interesting. Malcolm could tell as soon as the blushing teen approached that he was going to be fun, but he strained not to let it show on his painted, apathetic face.   
  
Ray introduced them all as he flopped bonelessly back into the booth. "I'm Ray. That's Malcolm, Billy and Pearl. We're the Flaming Creatures."   
  
"I'm Arthur Stuart," he said shyly. "I thought you were really good up there. Talented, you know."   
  
The kid was adorable. Absolutely, completely adorable- and so utterly clueless, Malcolm couldn't resist toying with him, just a bit. "So, Arthur Stuart, what's a boy like you doing in a place like this?" Malcolm questioned, cocking his head.   
  
"I was looking for a place to stay… Just temporarily…" Arthur paused and bit on his lip, waiting for a reply.   
  
Malcolm blinked and smiled. "Temporary is good." He shrugged and continued delicately, "See, I don't believe there's much of a future to speak of."   
  
Pearl backed him up. "We're in a bit of a decadent spiral."  
  
Billy pitched in with characteristic cynicism. "Sinking fast."   
  
Ray laughed. "Big brother, baby, all the way."   
  
Malcolm waved his hand. "Which is why we prefer impressions to ideas."   
  
"Situations to subjects."  
  
"Brief lights to sustained ones," Pearl said.   
  
Ray nodded. "Exceptions, to types."  
  
Pearl smiled. "And yourself?"   
  
Arthur looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Well… I'm just looking for a room at the moment."  
  
Malcolm nodded. "Excuse us." He stood and strode to the bar, knowing Billy, Ray and Pearl would follow.   
  
None of them spoke until they were out of earshot. Ray leaned against the bar with an impish grin. "Gee, Mum, can we keep him?"   
  
Malcolm slapped his arm. "Be serious!"   
  
"I am! Look at him- he's like a lost puppy!"   
  
They all glanced over to Arthur. He was waiting patiently, hands clasped in his lap. Chris, one of the club's more colorful patrons, approached the booth, obviously hitting on him. Malcolm watched Arthur blush and stammer while the other three burst into laughter.   
  
"Please, Malcolm?" Pearl asked, resting his chin on the smaller man's shoulder. "Can we adopt him?"   
  
Malcolm rolled his eyes and pushed off the counter. He sauntered across the room and took his seat with a flourish. "Well, go on, then," he said to Chris. "Get lost."   
  
When he moved away, Arthur relaxed visibly. "That guy was hitting on me!" he exclaimed in a whisper, eyes huge.   
  
"Why not?" Malcolm asked, waving his hand dismissively. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially. "When can you move your stuff in?"   
  
Arthur blinked and lowered his head. "Uh… This is all I have," he murmured, motioning to the bag at his feet.   
  
Malcolm shrugged. "Okay." He grinned dazzlingly. "Welcome to the band." 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
  
The Flaming Creatures resided in a flat not far from the Last Resort. Arthur tagged along behind them as they trudged noisily down the streets of London. By the time they got there it was past midnight and Arthur was dead on his feet. The Creatures were still bouncing around, though, and showed no signs of slowing.   
  
Arthur followed his new roommates into the apartment. They seemed to know how to weave their ways through the stacked up junk, but Arthur didn't and he banged his knee on the edge of something hard and cold.   
  
"Sorry," Billy's voice rang out from a corner, followed by a soft click. Light blossomed around his head and revealed a sheepish smile. "We're just moving in."   
  
Arthur nodded and glared down at the offending object, a heavy wooden crate. Then he let his eyes roam freely around his surroundings. A purple feather boa was draped across the counter of the tiny kitchenette and a pair of sequined pants hung carelessly over a lampshade. The carpet was barely visible under the mass of stuff piled on the floor. The other three doors were open, and Arthur could see more junk peaking out from the rooms beyond.   
  
"Okay," Malcolm said, carefully stepping over a beaded beret. "Bedroom, bathroom, bedroom," he said, pointing to each of the rooms in succession. "That's the kitchen, but we never use it… And that's the grand tour."   
  
"Uh… Where should I put my stuff?"   
  
"Anywhere," Ray replied with a shrug.   
  
"We're not exactly organized," Pearl added with a grin.   
  
"And where do I sleep?" Arthur asked with a plaintive glance at the couch. It was already occupied by piles of clothes and magazines.   
  
"You can sleep with me," Ray offered quickly, then added, "In our room, I mean."   
  
Pearl and Billy tried to hide snickers- they failed miserably- and Malcolm nodded. "You *can* sleep in our room. Ray can take the couch."   
  
"Hey!" Ray objected.   
  
"No, I can take the couch," Arthur jumped in almost fearfully.   
  
"Ray?" Malcolm asked expectantly.   
  
He rolled his eyes and shoved a pile of clothes off of the couch. "I'll sleep out here." He collapsed on the ratty sofa with a grunt.   
  
Malcolm grinned triumphantly and said, "Follow me." He headed into the left bedroom- the one that had the least amount of overflowing jumble.   
  
Clothes were strewn across the floor. Out of the clutter rose two small beds and a dresser, with makeup and knickknacks heaped atop it. It didn't seem to bother Malcolm, who merely sidestepped the obstructions and began pulling off his black layers. Arthur quickly turned his back and dropped his bag on the bed closest to him. He turned back around when he figured Malcolm was in bed.   
  
He was, his slim frame tucked under the covers. Arthur kicked off his shoes and sat on Ray's bed, his eyes on Malcolm. "Thanks," he said quietly.   
  
Malcolm didn't move, didn't open his bright blue eyes. He just murmured, "You're welcome."  
  
*  
  
Arthur woke up at nine, completely confused, staring around his messy surroundings with bleary eyes. It took a moment for the events of the past thirty-six hours to come back to him, and once they did, he fell back against his pillows with a depressed sigh.   
  
He closed his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep, but after five minutes of staring at the inside of his eyelids, he was bored and even more depressed. Worse, he was filled with doubt.   
  
Was he doing the right thing? Should he jump up and run to the depot, buy the ticket for Stratford and enroll at Aunt Phyllis's unofficial school for the horribly dull?   
  
Arthur's eyes opened and moved to Malcolm. He was sprawled across his bed, covers falling off. The remnants of mascara clung to the skin around his eyes and his hair was tousled, with a touch of curl. Everything about the tiny singer screamed adventure, screamed candor and wild abandon. Arthur wanted that.   
  
He slipped out of bed and pulled his sweater on over his head. He grabbed his shoes and carefully made his way across the room, careful not to knock over any strategically placed piles of rubbish. He paused outside the bedroom door to stare at the empty couch and wonder where Ray had gone. Before he came to any conclusions, he crossed the room and crept out the door.   
  
Once in the hallway, he slipped his shoes on and headed for the stairs. He vaguely remembered passing a payphone on their way back to the flat the night before. He retraced their steps and sure enough came to a the booth.   
  
Arthur swallowed hard and stepped inside. He pulled the change from his pocket and dialed. Ryan answered on the second ring with a laconic, "Yeah?"   
  
"Ryan… It's Arthur. Can I talk to Dad?" he asked, not pleased to find his voice shaking as hard as his hands were.   
  
Ryan scoffed on the other end. "You know, you're putting us through hell here, woofter. Mum's crying, Dad's yelling… And the townsfolk won't stop talking about this till Christmas."  
  
"Just let me talk to Dad, Ry!" Arthur cried.   
  
There was muffled arguing in the background, then his father's gruff voice came on the line. "Arthur, why aren't you in Stratford?"   
  
"I missed my bus," he murmured.   
  
"You get on the next one then. I want you at your aunt's by sunset."  
  
It took everything in him to say his next word. "No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"I don't want to go."   
  
"Don't want to go?" His voice sounded shocked, like he couldn't believe Arthur was defying him. Arthur couldn't believe it either. "I don't want my son to be a faggot! But I don't seem to have a choice in that! You get on that bus and go to your aunt's or you are not welcome here again!"   
  
He could hear his father's labored breathing. It seemed in time with his straining heartbeat. "I can't, Dad."   
  
"Then you're dead to me," his father said simply.   
  
Arthur pulled the phone from his ear, stared at it in mute disbelief. Then he hung it up and turned slowly from the booth. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
The apartment's residents were awake- and noisy- when Arthur returned. Ray was holding his blueberry scone in one hand while he scribbled notes on a napkin with the other. Malcolm stood on a stool in front of a mirror, tongue stuck out thoughtfully as he carefully lined his eyes with blue pencil. Billy was the noisy one, drumming his hands on a tea kettle as he sang along to the radio, playing not so softly in the corner.   
  
"Hungry, Arthur?" Pearl called from his perch on the counter, where he was wedged between the smudged wall and the boots Billy had been wearing the night before.   
  
"Nah," he replied shortly and headed back toward the room where he had left his bag. He opened the bag and began his search for the extra change of clothes he packed. As he searched, he shifted in his rumpled outfit and decided that a shower would be heaven at that moment.   
  
He'd retrieved the shirt and the socks when Ray came peeking in the room. "Good morning."   
  
Arthur looked up quickly and forced a smile. "Hi." Before Ray could say anything else, Arthur continued hurriedly. "Thanks for letting me have your bed… Sorry you had to take the couch."  
  
Ray laughed. "Oh, I didn't sleep on the couch. I slept with Pearl."   
  
Arthur blinked at that comment. His mind raced off on a tangent, wondering exactly what Ray meant, but he just shrugged and said, "Oh."   
  
Ray clapped his hands together with an exuberant smile. "So we have a gig tonight. And I suppose we could maybe use some help with our stuff. So if you wanna come…"   
  
Arthur smiled. "Really?"  
  
"Of course, that means getting dressed up," Ray said with a sideways glance to Arthur's rumpled sweater and slacks.   
  
"Uh… I was just unpacking…"   
  
Ray reached around Arthur and picked up the starched white shirt from his small pile of clothes. He raised a thin eyebrow and shook his head. "No. You can't wear this."  
  
Arthur yanked it from his hands. "Why not?"  
  
"Because it looks like something my grandmother would wear!" Arthur ducked his head, muttered something inaudible under his breath. "What?"   
  
"I don't have anything else."  
  
"Sure you do," Ray replied, beginning to dig through Arthur's bag.   
  
"Ray!"   
  
Ray grinned as he pulled out a record. "'Zounds'! You can never find this one in stores anymore!" He tossed it on the bed and continued his search.   
  
The others soon joined him and the crowded around Arthur's bed as his possessions were dumped onto the comforter. Arthur ran a hand through his hair and sighed.   
  
"I don't blame you for bringing these instead of clothes!" Malcolm breathed, staring at the treasure trove. "I'd bring these instead of air!"   
  
"Virginia Plain!" Billy squealed. He grinned and tossed the record to Pearl, who quickly moved to the stereo.   
  
"Guys…" Arthur trailed off as the music began blasting.   
  
"What?" Pearl asked innocently, then grinned. "Come on, Arthur. We need mood music."   
  
Arthur's eyes widened as the group closed in around him. "Wha… Why?"   
  
A wicked grin lit Billy's face. "We're going to make you over."   
  
*  
  
Hours later, Arthur lagged behind the Creatures as they lead the way to the Sombrero Club. "Arthur, hurry up!" Ray cried.   
  
Arthur quickened his steps, but merely to catch up enough to say, "I can't go in there like this!"   
  
Malcolm turned to their little pet. "You look fine, Arthur."   
  
"Don't be modest!" Ray exclaimed, tugging on Arthur's purple sleeve. "He looks extraordinary!"  
  
Arthur worriedly smoothed the fabric of the satin pants Billy had loaned him. "Are you sure?"   
  
Malcolm stepped closer to Arthur and stared right at his face. Then he licked the tip of his index finger and carefully rubbed away a smudge in Arthur's lipstick. "Perfect."   
  
Arthur smiled, suddenly much calmer. He followed the Creatures into the club and to the bar. The band onstage was obviously winding down and Malcolm looked at his band mates. "Showtime, fellas."   
  
"What about me?" Arthur asked, as the Creatures began to head backstage.   
  
"Meet us backstage after the set," Malcolm directed.   
  
Ray deliberately knocked Arthur's collar askew and winked. "Be good and make friends."   
  
They left him at the bar, staring after them with wide eyes. And because bad things came in threes, not twos or zeros, it wasn't enough that he was left at a bar alone, tarted up like a whore. No, someone had to come along and make it worse.   
  
He was dressed in tight leather and knee high black boots, laced up with skinny rainbows. His outfit was far more elaborate than it had been the night before, but Arthur knew it was the same man that had hit on him at the Last Resort. Arthur felt panic rise up inside him as he approached. This time there wouldn't be any Malcolm to make him go away.   
  
"Hey," the man said, sidling up to Arthur.   
  
"Uh…" Arthur murmured, trailing off and looking around for a way out. There was none. "Hi."  
  
"I think we got off on the wrong foot last night." He smiled, stuck out his hand. "I'm Chris."  
  
Arthur forced a smile as he shook the other man's hand. "Arthur Stuart."   
  
"Can I buy you a drink, Arthur?"   
  
Arthur gave the figures just arriving on stage a plaintive look, then nodded. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"   
  
*  
  
The set ended well and the Creatures traipsed offstage, grinning as Malcolm spun around happily. In the middle of his second whirl around the room, he noticed their missing roommate. "Where's Arthur?"   
  
Ray peeked out the stage door. "I left him at the bar." The others followed him and scanned the cavernous club.  
  
"He's since gone on," Billy said and gestured.   
  
There, sitting at a back booth, was Arthur, throwing back a shot of tequila. And beside him, ready to pour him another, was the vibrantly dressed, wickedly persistent Chris. He was vitually draped over the younger man, blatantly trying to seduce him. With an exaggerated sigh, Malcolm climbed down the narrow steps and swaggered across the room to the dark booth.  
  
"Chris," he said, giving the young man a look. "Have you no shame?"   
  
The dark haired man grinned and looked over at Arthur, flushed and tipsy, then back to Malcolm. "No, none whatsoever."   
  
Malcolm groaned. "Take your rainbow shoelaces and get lost, Chris. This one's off limits."   
  
As the young man slinked away, Malcolm dropped into the booth. "Kitten, how many of these have you had?" he asked, gesturing to the full shot glass in front of Arthur.   
  
Arthur lifted unfocused eyes to Malcolm's face. "Five… or nine…"   
  
Malcolm sighed exaggeratedly and was about to hoist his drunk roommate to his feet when he noticed Arthur's face. It was sullen, his eyes filled with as much sadness as liquor. "What's wrong?"  
  
Arthur didn't struggle to word it right, just blurted out. "I can't go home. I can never go home."  
  
"Sure you can," Malcolm replied automatically.  
  
"No. He said so. He told me I was dead…" Arthur's head lolled backwards; a small groan escaped him. "He hates me because I don't love Katherine Jackson."   
  
Drunks rarely made any sense in Malcolm's experience- and Arthur didn't seem to want to change his perception. "You'll have to explain that one to me, Arthur."   
  
"Her father owns the butcher shop. My dad always expected me to marry her, I think." Arthur's lips quivered, his eyes filling. "I don't want to marry Katherine!" Arthur collapsed against Malcolm's shoulder, sobbing into Malcolm's silver mesh top.   
  
Malcolm patted the intoxicated boy's shoulder awkwardly. "It's okay, Arthur."   
  
Arthur's hand slammed down on the table. "No! It's not okay! I'm not normal! Why can't I be normal?"   
  
"Normal is boring," Malcolm replied quietly, stopping his hand as it reached for the glass. "Its much more fun to be different."   
  
Tearstained brown eyes looked up at him hopefully. "Promise?"  
  
"Yeah," Malcolm said, pushing Arthur's glass away. "Promise." 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four   
  
His head felt like it was going to explode. His mouth was dry, tasted like an old gym sock. The thin shirt he was wearing felt heavy and hot, too constricting. His eyes were swollen and the voices of his roommates echoed in his ears painfully.   
  
"I think he's dead," Ray muttered.   
  
"Stupid git, he's breathing," Malcolm replied.   
  
"Shh! He's coming too," Billy whispered.   
  
He forced his eyes to open. Four hazy shapes stared down at him. He blinked and the lines of their faces cleared. "What happened?" He tried to sit up and was hit with a mind-numbing jolt of pain. He finally did manage to drag himself into a somewhat vertical position and stared at the young men gathered around him with bleary eyes.  
  
"So I take it you've never thrown back half a bottle of tequila," Malcolm replied, passing him a cup.   
  
"No." Arthur took a sip of the sweet tea. It burned as it went down his throat and he cringed.   
  
The novelty of a hung over roommate faded a few minutes later and Pearl, Billy, and Ray disappeared into the living room. Malcolm remained, sitting on Arthur's bed, legs crossed. "You have to be careful. If we weren't there, you might've woken up hurting in a whole other place."   
  
Arthur flushed. "I'm sure he wouldn't-"  
  
"Yes, he would. You're not in the suburbs anymore, Arthur."  
  
"I know."  
  
Malcolm stood and stepped off the bed. "Get dressed and come on."   
  
"Where are we going?" Arthur asked, standing. As soon as the room stopped spinning, he followed Malcolm into the living room, where the rest of the Creatures were sprawled on the couch, waiting.   
  
"Lunch."   
  
*  
  
When Arthur was nine, his family had gone to London for Christmas. It had been magical- except for the time that Ryan had tripped him and sent him flying into a bearded Santa and then to the muddy ground. But the London that the Creatures showed him was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Painted figures with wildly colored hair hung out on street corners, laughing freely and blowing kisses to each other. Arthur felt at once intensely out of place and right at home. It was an odd feeling to say the least.   
  
Malcolm led them to a dingy corner. The outside walls were plastered with posters of various musicians, from Brian Slade to Lou Reed and a couple faded ones of the Beatles. The sign above the door proclaimed it as Shore Records in muted blue.   
  
"You eat at the record store?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowed.  
  
"No. Gotta buy something first and see what's left over," Malcolm replied, swinging the door open.   
  
The five young men that piled inside were the only customers in the small store. Arthur's head swiveled to take in all the rows of records. From the wall, a huge poster of Curt Wild and Jack Fairy stared down at him and a life-size display of Brian Slade seemed to glare at the two expatriates from across the room.   
  
Malcolm moved toward the register with a smile, leaving his friends to paw over the records. The girl at the counter was sorting through a pile of records that reached nearly to the top of her head. When she saw Malcolm, she moved away from the records and cocked a dark brow at him, placing a manicured hand on her denim clad hip. "So, Gina, how's the Wild/Fairy album selling?"   
  
She tossed her blue-black curls. "It's gone. So much for theories that Curt Wild wouldn't sell without Brian Slade at his side."   
  
"Never believed 'em," Malcolm said and grinned. "So, when you say it's gone…"   
  
"I mean its gone. Every copy bought." She paused then smiled, "Except this one." With a flourish, she produced a record and winked at Malcolm. "Did you think I'd forget?"   
  
"Thanks!" Malcolm snatched it out of her hands.   
  
"You have to pay me for that, you know," she admonished, holding out her hand.   
  
He surrendered the money and smiled. "Thanks, Gina."   
  
"Not a problem," she replied, then leaned in and spoke softly, "Mal, you know Mom would love it if you'd call sometime."   
  
Malcolm shrugged and straightened, smile fading. "Yeah, well, tell her I say hi."   
  
He turned away and brushed past Ray and Arthur without saying goodbye. They all turned to hurry after him, Billy calling over his shoulder to Gina, "I'll talk to him."   
  
Malcolm stopped a few steps away from the record store and forced a smile onto his pale face. "So, we've got like five pounds left. Who wants fish and chips?"  
  
"Mal-"  
  
He gave Billy a look that should have silenced him. "I don't want to talk about it."   
  
"But-"  
  
"I said I don't wanna talk about it!" he repeated. Then he shoved a small wad of bills at Billy. "I'll see you later."   
  
"Where are you going?" Pearl called to Malcolm's retreating back.   
  
"I don't know!" he shouted back to them without turning.   
  
Ray turned to Billy and Pearl after Malcolm had disappeared around the corner. He sighed deeply and shrugged. "That went well." 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
  
After Malcolm stormed off, the remaining Creatures and Arthur were left to scrounge around for cheap food and subjects to talk about. Lunch was spent quietly over fish and chips, and the walk back to the apartment wasn't much louder, except for the clopping of feet against pavement. As they neared the flat, they passed a bus stop, watched over by a huge poster promoting the Maxwell Demon tour.   
  
"Brian Slade," Arthur murmured, staring up in awe.   
  
"Yeah," Ray replied. "We've been trying to get tickets, but its been sold out since the day they went on sale. Of course, we'll spend all day at the door and never get in."  
  
"We may catch a glimpse of Maxwell, and then it'd be worth it," Billy put in and Arthur didn't know if he was being serious or sarcastic.   
  
The other band members didn't seem inclined to tell him, so he merely asked, "You think Curt Wild will be there?"  
  
"You must have heard about the break up," Pearl replied.  
  
Arthur flushed. "Well, yeah… but I figured, they're just so bloody perfect together, they'd work it out."   
  
"I doubt it," Ray put in. "But I'd sure love to see him. He's amazing musician."   
  
"He's amazing period," Arthur replied quickly.   
  
Ray grinned. "I think our Arthur has a crush. A crush on Curt Wild." Arthur stammered out a denial, but the others just laughed. "Well, maybe we will see your boyfriend at the concert. But with you around, I don't know if he'd go back to Brian…"  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes and shoved Ray off the sidewalk. Ray retorted by grabbing Arthur's scarf and taking off. Soon the entire group was running down the streets of London, leaving the bystanders to wonder why.   
  
*  
  
He couldn't sleep. Arthur stared at the ceiling, eyes fixed on a small crack in the plaster, but his mind was on Malcolm, who still hadn't returned. Ray- across from him in Malcolm's bed- didn't seem to have a problem sleeping, but Arthur was worried about his new friend. As soon as he heard the door creak open that night, Arthur looked to the clock. It was nearly midnight.   
  
When Malcolm didn't enter the room, Arthur slowly got up and crept into the living room- which he found was empty. A quick glance around, however, revealed an open window. Arthur peaked out and saw the small young man, legs dangling over the edge of the fire escape, smoke trailing from a lit cigarette between his lips. That left plenty of room for him, so Arthur climbed out, whispering, "Hi."  
  
Malcolm looked up and smiled. "Couldn't sleep?"   
  
"No." Malcolm offered him his cigarette, which Arthur declined with a shake of his head. It was silent for a few minutes, until Arthur asked softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"   
  
"What?" Malcolm asked, with a vacant stare.   
  
"Earlier… I thought you might want to talk."   
  
"Its nothing new. My mum wants me home, my dad doesn't. That's always the story, isn't it?" Malcolm asked, a knowing smile on his face.  
  
"What did you want?"  
  
"To be free. This was my dream," he said, looking up at the stars. "Just to be myself. And they can't accept me." He shrugged and turned to Arthur. "So what about you? Do you have a dream? A goal?"   
  
Arthur smiled shyly. "When I was younger I wanted to be a novelist. The next Oscar Wilde, you know. Without the jail and poverty, of course."   
  
Malcolm laughed. "'Those who find ugly meaning in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault'."   
  
"The Picture of Dorian Gray."   
  
"I read it in school, a lifetime ago."  
  
"Do you ever regret leaving home?"   
  
"No. I was… boxed in there. Prep school, uniforms… it was like prison. If you can't be yourself, what's the point? Hiding, building walls… if that's life, you're living it wrong."   
  
Arthur smiled and stood. "I'm heading in. You coming?"   
  
"I'll be inside in a while," Malcolm said. Slowly, he pulled his knees up to his chest and stared out into the smoky sky.   
  
*  
  
Arthur opened his eyes the next morning to an empty bed across from him. Arthur rose and headed out into the living room, sure to pull a t-shirt on over his bare chest. Billy and Pearl sat cross legged on the floor, playing cards.   
  
"Deal me in, fellas?" Arthur asked, plopping down beside them.   
  
"Want a scone, Arthur?" Ray called from his position in the kitchen.   
  
"Yeah," Arthur replied and looked up in time to catch the stale pastry flying through the air at him. "Watch it, Ray! Those things are deadly."   
  
His roommate rolled his eyes and hopped over the counter. "Poker?"   
  
"What else?" Billy replied, tossing seven cards at him.  
  
"Where's Malcolm?" Arthur asked absently after a few moments of silence.  
  
"No bloody clue," Ray answered as he studied his hand. "Bugger it. I'm out."   
  
"He went off this mornin' without a word," Billy replied. "Raise you two."  
  
"Call," Pearl replied, but his softly spoken direction was drowned by the door slamming against the wall and a squealing roommate flying across the room.   
  
Malcolm pounced on Billy, who was closest to the door, and wrung his arm. "Guess what?"   
  
"You got a date?" Ray asked, then shook his head. "Never happen. What, then?"  
  
Malcolm glared at him, then whipped out a small envelope. "Lycenium Theatre, February fifth- Maxwell Demon and the Venus in Furs!"   
  
Ray tackled him from across the table and grabbed the envelope. "How the hell did you get these?"   
  
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Malcolm said and grinned.   
  
"How many are there?" Pearl asked worriedly, with a glance to Arthur, who stood completely still during the exchange.   
  
Malcolm rolled his green eyes and said, "Five, of course." He winked at the slowly smiling boy. "One of us goes, we all go." 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
  
"Hurry up, you git, I want in the bloody loo!" Ray called, banging on the door. He turned to Malcolm, who was doing his makeup while sitting on the kitchen counter. "Three weeks. He's here three weeks and he bloody thinks he owns the place."  
  
Malcolm fought back his smile as he applied lipstick. "A month," he said when he was done, sliding the cap back on. "One month today."  
  
"Well, happy anniversary and get the hell out of the toilet, you wanker!" Ray finished with a yell and another round of banging on the door.   
  
The door opened and Arthur emerged. "Patience is a virtue," he said with a grin and Ray smacked him across the back of his head playfully as he entered the bathroom.   
  
Malcolm laughed and tossed Arthur a scarf. "That goes."   
  
Arthur wound the leopard print scarf around his neck. "Thanks."  
  
"Is that my jacket?" Billy asked, eyeing the velveteen jacket.   
  
"Yeah. Knew you wouldn't mind," Arthur said with a grin, popping a pretzel into his mouth.   
  
"You're lucky I'm such a nice guy."   
  
Malcolm glanced at the clock, then called. "Hurry up, Ray! We're gonna be late!"   
  
The door slammed open and Ray stepped out, a sour look on his face. "And that's my fault?"   
  
*  
  
"Hold the doors!" Malcolm shrieked, leaping the rest of the way into the train.   
  
Billy caught him before he toppled, shaky in his platform shoes. "Careful. Don't wanna lose you."  
  
"How sweet," Malcolm said, straightening his scarf and shirt.   
  
Ray rolled his eyes. "You have the tickets."  
  
The Underground was crowded, people shoving against year other and wrestling for seats. Luckily, the ride was short and they shoved their way out of the doors first. They sprinted up the stairs only to be blocked by two slight, middle aged women, who stared at them, outrage plain on their faces.   
  
"'Scuse me!" Malcolm muttered, pressing past the ladies. Pearl slipped by as well and the others went by ladies the other way. The two groups converged and ran into the road, not bothering to watch for cars.   
  
"Hurry up!" Ray called to Pearl, who was lagging behind. He sped up and joined with his friends. They ran down the street, pushing past anyone in their way. "Damn it!" Ray cried, looking down. "I hate this shirt! Gimme your scarf, Mal!"   
  
Malcolm sighed and unwound the black scarf from his neck and reached to hand it to him. Ray didn't grab it in time and the scarf fluttered to the ground, leaving Malcolm to go back and pick it up. He snatched it off the ground, then ran shakily after his friends.   
  
They made it to the theatre with enough time to push their way to nearly the front of the crowd. Arthur stared up at the stage eagerly. Suddenly a fan started up and feathers rained down around them. One soft white feather fell on his nose, and Malcolm brushed it away with a laugh. Arthur was caught up in the whirlpool of cheers and screams. He waved his arms along with the crowd, yelling for Maxwell at the top of his lungs. Then the music began and an announcer called, "The Lycenium Theatre is proud to present Maxwell Demon and the Venus in Furs!"   
  
And then he appeared, strutting onstage in a skin tight jumpsuit. The flashing lights reflected off the shimmering blue material, off his spiky hair, off his skin. Arthur watched in amazement as Brian Slade swaggered along the stage, parading himself for the mass of screaming fans before him.   
  
Arthur turned his head to shout something to Malcolm when he caught a figure making his way toward the stage. He cocked his head and followed the shadowy man, then looked back to Brian. Maybe it was Curt, he thought, his head swiveling back to the man in the overcoat. No, too thin and short. Then the man's hand reached inside his overcoat and Arthur's breath caught.   
  
A gun. The man had a gun.   
  
He barely heard the shot over the opening strains of the Ballad of Maxwell Demon. His head went back to Brian just in time to see the singer fly backward, a bloody hole tore though him.   
  
The screaming, joyful and full of anticipation, changed- they became terrified, ripping through Arthur painfully. Malcolm grabbed his hand hard; Arthur looked over at him, only to see his eyes bright with tears and focused on the stage.   
  
Trevor let his guitar drop and fell to his knees at Brian's side. "Someone call an ambulance!" he cried shrilly.   
  
The security showed up then, two men running onstage, and the rest beginning to usher out the throng of fans around the stage. "Head to your nearest exit please! There is no cause to panic!" a man yelled, waving his flashlight around to get attention.   
  
Arthur and the Creatures stood completely still, ignoring the stampede around them and the crushed feathers beneath their feet. No cause for alarm? Arthur thought numbly, raising his eyes to the stage. Maxwell Demon- Brian Slade- was dead. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven  
  
Old Mr. Robinson never dared creep outside the dingy walls of his apartment, not even to collect his copy of the daily Observer, thrown to the porch of the building every morning. Occasionally, when he was feeling masochistic, Arthur would head outside and pick up the paper and give it to the old man. As soon as the wizened old fiend would crack the door, he would begin a tirade about Arthur's clothes, which were too tight or too vibrant, or his makeup, which made him look like a queer.   
  
Everyday since the concert, Arthur had delivered the paper to Mr. Robinson. He'd lean against the door jam first, paging through the newsprint, looking for any mention of Brian Slade's murder. Perhaps they'd caught the killer, found the gun, or- Arthur's personal favorite- a genius had come out of retirement to invent a time machine, and a team had been sent back to prevent Brian's death.  
  
It was a childish fantasy, he knew. He never thought it would happen, that Brian could be alive just as surely as if someone had turned back time.   
  
"Mal!" Arthur shouted, scrambling up the stairs to their apartment, clutching the paper.   
  
"What is it, Arthur?" Malcolm grumbled, rubbing his puffy eyes.   
  
Arthur thrust the paper at the suddenly wide awake roommate. "Brian's alive!"   
  
Malcolm stared at the headline mutely. Arthur's commotion had roused the other Creatures and they lumbered out of the other room. Ray's hair was flattened on one side and his mascara from the night before was smeared all over his face. Pearl's hair flared around his face in a light brown afro, and he leaned heavily on Billy's bare shoulder. They entered just in time to hear Arthur's revelation and they rushed forward.   
  
Ray seized the paper. "He's alive?"   
  
Arthur was so focused on the fact that Brian Slade was alive that he barely noticed Billy's whispered, "That son of a bitch."   
  
Arthur's head snapped up. "What?"  
  
"Publicity," Malcolm hissed. "The git wanted to sell records. And it worked, didn't it? At the top of the charts again."  
  
The reality started to sink in. "Publicity…"  
  
"Yeah," Ray said, crossing his arms. "A stunt."   
  
"We went in for it too, didn't we? Maxwell Demon… Bloody liar." Malcolm threw the paper down on the table, and stumbled back to bed.   
  
The others followed suit, Ray and Pearl going back into the bedroom, Billy to the bathroom, muttering something about a shower. Arthur collapsed on the couch, not minding that he was sitting on a very uncomfortable pile of junk instead of the cushions. He stared down at the paper mutely, his eyes tracing the delicate features of Brian Slade through a curtain of tears. After a moment, he snatched the paper off the table and tossed it out the window, not wanting to see his face anymore.   
  
*  
  
Life went back to normal. Brian Slade sales plummeted after it was discovered that he was alive, and with Brian Slade's fall, other glam bands seemed to be fading too.   
  
For the very first time Arthur and the Flaming Creatures were camped out on the floor of their flat on a Friday night since Arthur had come to London. There was no gig to be played and no other bands to see. So instead, they made popcorn and watched TV on the tiny black and white set they had bought after their last gig at the Sombrero Club. The news was on- music news, of course, since who really cared about the crime rate in London or the Vietnam War? The five roommates silently watched Curt Wild and Jack Fairy in Berlin as they discussed the downfall of Maxwell Demon.   
  
Curt looked thoughtful, sad, when he was asked to explain why Brian would do such a thing to his fans. "I dunno. I guess it just got too big, too schitzo. In the end he thought he was fucking Maxwell Demon. And Maxwell Demon, he thought he was God."   
  
Ray moved to the TV set as soon as Curt was finished speaking and switched it off. "Hey!" Arthur objected.   
  
"No. We don't need to hear about stupid Brian Slade, alright? Pearl, toss me a record," Ray commanded.   
  
Pearl spun around and dug through the collection, finally choosing a rather upbeat Polly Small album which Ray proceeded to blast, despite the fact that none of them were dancing.   
  
Over the loud music, they barely heard the phone's shrill ring. Malcolm hopped up to get it. "Hello?" he said, pressing the phone to his ear. His eyes widened slightly after a few seconds and he waved for Pearl to turn off the music. "Yes, this is Malcolm."  
  
Ray turned to the others. "It's probably that cute blond from the Last Resort. Malcolm has been drooling after him for months."   
  
They laughed and watched Malcolm silently as he jotted something down on a napkin by the phone. "Yes, that sounds amazing. Thank you so much!"   
  
"A little desperate, isn't he?" Billy joked.  
  
"Play it cool, Mal!" Ray called loudly, to his friends raucous amusement.   
  
Malcolm hung up the phone and looked at his friends with dazed eyes. "That was Jack Fairy."   
  
Ray, Pearl and Billy snapped to attention. "Jack Fairy?"   
  
"We've been invited to play a gig."   
  
"A gig? With Jack Fairy?" Ray was up in an instant, whooping and tossing popcorn around gleefully.   
  
"That's not all," Malcolm said, effectively silencing the joyous yelps. His friends waited eagerly. He burst into a grin. "Curt Wild's playing too."   
  
Amidst cheers from the group, every drop of color faded from Arthur's face. "Curt Wild? We'd get to meet Curt Wild?"   
  
"Oh, yes, Arthur's little boyfriend," Ray said with a smile. He tossed a handful of popcorn at the pale boy. "Come on, then. He'll find you irresistible and drag you off to a dressing room for a shag, I'm sure."   
  
"Right," Arthur said, a small smile on his very red face as he studied his newly painted nails carefully.   
  
"You're aloud to blink, Arthur; I promise they won't change colors," Pearl instructed lightly.   
  
Arthur shrugged and looked up helplessly. "He's like my idol."   
  
Ray snorted. "He's the object of your wet dreams, Arthur. You don't want to *be* him, you want to screw him."   
  
"Do not." He chuckled. "Well, maybe a little."   
  
Pearl smiled. "Alright then, lets celebrate. Music, anyone?"  
  
"Music?" Ray asked. "I say we go out."  
  
"And do what?" Billy questioned.   
  
Malcolm threw himself onto the couch with a blissful smile. "What does it matter? Next week, we get to play with Curt Wild and Jack Fairy!" 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter eight  
  
Death of Glitter. It was a catchy name, and all too true. The glitz was fading since Brian's mock death and it was likely that this, the Death of Glitter concert, would be the last big concert the Flaming Creatures would perform at.  
  
Therefore, getting very dressed up was a must.   
  
"Is this working?" Arthur asked as he sprayed the blue powder he'd borrowed from Pearl onto his hair.   
  
"Of course its working," Ray replied without even looking up, focused on his clothes.   
  
"No, coz I want it bluer and my hair's darker than yours..."  
  
"It shows up just as well," Pearl reassured him.   
  
"What am I gonna wear?" Ray muttered, almost inaudibly.   
  
Arthur grinned at the mirror. "I don't think you should bother, I think I should go on stage tonight instead of you."  
  
"Arthur, come on, give me a hand here," Ray ordered, struggling with his shirt. Pearl reached up to help, but to no avail. "Come on, come on. I'm stuck!" he cried, toppling down onto Pearl.   
  
Arthur sighed and called out, "Stop moving about! I'm doin' my eyeliner!"   
  
"Bloody old ponce…" Ray muttered, rolling off Pearl and springing to his feet. He swung his shirt around, yanking on the sleeves. "I'm trapped! I'm being attacked by a bloody porno!"  
  
Malcolm walked in then, already dressed and made-up, and tapping a plat formed foot. "Children, are we ready?" he asked patronizingly. Ray threw his shirt, which had finally deigned to come off, at him.   
  
"Appearance is very important, Mal. One can't go onstage naked," Ray said, slipping his carefully chosen pants on.   
  
"Unless one is Curt Wild," Billy muttered from his place in the doorway.   
  
*  
  
They were ready and heading for the club in a matter of minutes, this time not in such a rush. They arrived early, but the club was still crowded. As they neared the bar, they ran into Chris, who was staring at Arthur like a cat at his mouse.  
  
"Can I buy you a drink, Arthur?" he asked, a smile on his full painted lips, slipping a hand up Arthur's back onto his shoulder.   
  
Arthur paused, considered the warm hand on his shoulder, then shrugged it off. "Sorry, I think I'm busy." He flashed a dazzling smile at the other man and turned away as a pout settled on Chris's lips.   
  
"Vicious," Ray murmured to him and grinned. "I knew he was gonna take after me," he said to Malcolm, who just smiled.   
  
"We have to get onstage," Billy reminded them.   
  
Malcolm and the others shrugged. Ray winked. "Have fun out here, Arthur. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."  
  
Malcolm grabbed Ray's arm and tugged him forward. "Don't do anything he would do either."   
  
Arthur stood awkwardly in the crowd, waiting for the music to start. Just as he decided to head to the bar to get a drink, heavy strains of music blasted and a black clad figure sauntered onstage. "To save your wild, wild lives. To ne'er your fans embitter. To cease your sad demise. Tonight, we toast!"   
  
With Jack Fairy's words, the Creatures began. Arthur clapped in time with them to 20th Century Boy. He'd seen them onstage before but tonight was different. It wasn't the first time, but it could be the last. He moved with the rhythm of the music, dancing wildly. He knew he looked like a fool (he was completely uncoordinated) but he didn't care what the people around him thought.   
  
Until a burly man approached him. "Dude, tone it down!" the man yelled, roughly pulling his flailing arms down.  
  
Arthur sighed and looked away from the Creatures, towards the door. Someone was arriving. He craned his neck to see who it was.   
  
He felt his heart speed up, his stomach knot into tight coils. Curt Wild. Curt Wild was less than fifteen feet away from him, hands on his silver-clad hips and eyes on the band onstage. And then he moved, with the wily grace of a predator, towards the bar, all the while looking around, as if searching for someone in particular.   
  
Arthur's eyes followed him as he reached the bar, and was immediately handed a drink. Curt sipped it thoughtfully, staring into space. Arthur bit his lip, wanting more than anything to walk up to him and begin a conversation about anything- music, London… He'd settle for pygmy hippos!   
  
Instead Arthur just watched him, the curve of his cheek, the soft bobbing of his head to the beat of Billy's drums. Suddenly, Arthur couldn't wait for his friends to get off the stage and Curt Wild to begin. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine  
  
Curt Wild was in pain. It was there for all to see, in his beautiful eyes and his rumbling voice. The lights danced off his naked torso and his platinum hair. His eyes were ringed with smudged black eyeliner, and it emphasized his murky, unfocused eyes. Arthur watched him, mesmerized. He felt his body swaying to the hypnotic rhythm, but didn't dare take his eyes off the gorgeous singer kneeling on stage.   
  
Until a blond woman weaved her way through the crowd, focused on Curt. He eyes shone with tears and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself. Arthur stared at her until he realized who she was. Mandy Slade.   
  
He, like most other Brian Slade fans, had never paid much attention to Mandy, especially after the advent of Curt. Their wild, crazy love seemed much more passionate than anything a mere wife could feel. But as he watched her, with her eyes tightly closed to block out tears, and realized she of all people had suffered for Brian's sins and delights.  
  
Mandy's eyes moved suddenly to the left. Arthur followed her gaze to the side exit. Standing there, blanketed in shadows, was Brian Slade. He was hidden under a heavy coat, but his pale face and the tendrils of blue hair escaping his large hat were unmistakable. His eyes were focused on Curt. Then slowly, he adjusted his collar and turned away. Arthur had never met Brian Slade, but he knew, from the look on his face, it would be the last time he'd watch Curt.   
  
Brian's retreating back disappeared through the door and Arthur looked back to Curt. The song ended with Curt collapsed onstage, and Arthur guessed that the blond hair hiding his face hid his tears as well. "God, what I'd give to meet him…" Arthur murmured, eyes focused on the performer.   
  
"Go on then… Introduce yourself!" Pearl urged from beside him.   
  
Arthur's eyes widened and he glanced at Pearl. "What… What would I say?"   
  
"'Hi, I'm Arthur Stuart. I want to shag you senseless.'?" Ray asked with a grin. Arthur elbowed him and Ray cringed. "Ow."  
  
"If you're gonna go, go now. That way you can get backstage before a crowd," Malcolm directed.   
  
Arthur nodded and obeyed, slipping backstage and leaning against the wall. He waited anxiously, having no clue what to say or do. It was Curt Wild, after all. Curt bloody Wild, how was he supposed to act?   
  
And then he was there, striding back stage and there was no room in his head for thought. His mind was full of Curt- the sleek muscles of his chest and arms, the perfect planes of his face, the anguish in his beautiful eyes.   
  
Before Arthur had a chance to say anything- or nothing, which would probably have been the case, since he was a spineless ponce- a woman pulled Curt into an embrace. It took Arthur a moment to realize it was Mandy Slade.   
  
"That was really beautiful," she said tearfully.  
  
"Yeah?" Curt asked, his voice so soft in comparison to the raw power he exuded on stage.  
  
"Yeah," she replied, her smile at odds with the tears streaming down her face.   
  
"Thanks," he murmured, as if that compliment meant more than the adoring fans screaming for him. "Did you see…" he trailed off, but it was plain to Arthur exactly what he meant.   
  
Mandy hesitated, then lied. "No, I didn't see him."   
  
Arthur couldn't tell if it was disappointment or relief on his face. Curt looked away from Mandy- straight at him. Their eyes met, and a jolt of electricity shot through Arthur. His breath quickened as he stared into Curt's stormy eyes. He smiled tightly and tried to look away, only to find he couldn't. Curt blinked first and looked back at Mandy Slade. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink." He led her away from Arthur- but not before glancing back at him, the look on his face caught between fascination and anticipation.   
  
*  
  
The night was going well. The music was amazing and exhilarating, and after, Malcolm found himself chatting easily with the bartender from the Last Resort, a well muscled fellow named Alex who he'd been "drooling over for months" in Ray's words. It turned out they had a lot in common. Well, not so much, but it was worth faking to get the wickedly good looking man in bed.   
  
Just as the conversation was getting somewhere, Arthur grabbed Malcolm's arm and tugged him away from the blond man. "Sorry," he said breathlessly.  
  
"Arthur!" Malcolm whined, nearly tripping on his platforms as he was dragged away.   
  
"Curt Wild wants to sleep with me," Arthur blurted.   
  
Malcolm silenced the rebuke on his lips and instead gasped, "What?"   
  
"He's waiting on the rooftop. For me. Curt Wild is waiting for *me*. What do I do?" Arthur asked, looking panicked.   
  
"Curt, obviously!" Arthur looked confused and Malcolm shook his head. "What do you want to do, Arthur?"   
  
"I don't know. I've never… I mean, I haven't…" He bit his lip and looked down, finding his shoes very interesting.   
  
"Arthur," Malcolm said gently. "Do you want to go up there?"   
  
He lifted his head and nodded. "Yes."   
  
"Then why are you waiting?"   
  
"This makes it official. There's no going back," Arthur murmured.   
  
"It's who you are. There is no back." Arthur bit his lip then smiled and nodded. Malcolm laughed. "Go on."  
  
Malcolm watched as Arthur took off through the back door. He caught the door before it swung shut and his eyes followed the boy as he disappeared onto the roof.   
  
"See anything interesting?" Ray asked lightly, coming up behind Malcolm.   
  
"Our little Arthur is up there with Curt Wild," Malcolm said, gesturing to the roof.   
  
Ray grinned. "He's gotta grow up sometime, Mal."  
  
Malcolm nodded. "Didn't think it'd be so soon though."   
  
The two looked at each other and laughed. Ray asked, "So, Alex, huh? Finally got him?"  
  
Malcolm laughed. "Looks like it."   
  
"So what'd you put in his drink?" Ray replied nonchalantly.   
  
Malcolm laughed and threw a mock punch, which Ray ducked easily. Then he slung an arm around his friend. The door slammed behind the two as they headed back inside to rejoin the extravagant party that was about to end forever. 


End file.
